


Obsession

by genevievedarcygranger



Series: Negan/Rick fics [12]
Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Bisexual Rick Grimes, Bottom Rick Grimes, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Carl Grimes is dead, Character Death, Dom Negan (Walking Dead), Episode: s08e10 The Lost and the Plunderers, Episode: s08e12 The Key, Episode: s08e13 Do Not Send Us Astray, Episode: s08e14 Still Gotta Mean Something, Episode: s08e15 Worth, Episode: s08e16 Wrath, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Canon Relationship, Non-Canonical Character Death, Obsession, Pansexual Negan (Walking Dead), Romance, Smut, Sub Rick Grimes, Suicidal Thoughts, Top Negan (Walking Dead)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-20 21:37:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14902502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genevievedarcygranger/pseuds/genevievedarcygranger
Summary: Carl is dead, and Rick is in shambles. His way to grieve is to track Negan down and he doesn’t care who dies. Negan can’t say he doesn’t love the attention, but he does wish that the attention was softer.





	1. Monster with Two Heads

Rick pressed his foot harder on the gas pedal, his mind racing a mile a minute like the van. Jadis’ people were gone. The Saviors had escaped. Alexandria was ashes. Carl was dead –

Abruptly, he steered his mind away from that. He didn’t know what to do. They needed Jadis’ numbers to tide them over for the war. Everything was falling apart around him and Carl was gone –

Turning his face to Michonne for comfort, he saw her flat look and quickly glanced back to the road instead. “I shot above her head,” he defended himself, “I just wanted her gone.” He didn’t like the look Michonne was giving him. It made him feel guilty and reminded him of how not so long ago, she wouldn’t have had second thoughts about what they did. But things were different then. Back then Rick’s heart was hard and he had to be, for Carl’s sake. He, Michonne, and Carl went on a run for baby items and he remembered the hitchhiker with the orange backpack. They never stopped until all that was left was the orange backpack.

“Look,” Rick sighed, “I saw her. She made it.” Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at Michonne and tried to placate her. “She ran into an empty alley just before I left. I didn’t want her dead. I just wanted her gone.”

_Please, stop looking at me that way, Michonne._

Her voice surprisingly level, Michonne slowly started, “Feels like what Carl was talking about.” Rick’s heart twinged at Carl’s name again so soon. He didn’t want to forget, but it was just all so hard. Michonne was braver than him, though, and she continued steadily, “Feels like what we should do when we have a choice.”

Rick’s foot switched to the breaks and he stepped down harder than he meant to. The van rolled to a sudden stop. He kept the engine running for the relief the air conditioner offered from the heat, but he shifted into park. Ducking his head, Rick found it hard to look Michonne in the eye for too long. When he did, all he saw were the tears she shed for Carl.

"Uh,” he hesitated, his tongue numb and clumsy. “Um, I need a se- I need a second,” he stumbled.

Michonne’s voice finally wavered. “It’s fine.” She forced a smile, her teeth blindingly white, her eyes crinkled and brimming with the unshed tears she held onto. Michonne reached for him, but Rick unbuckled and hopped out of the van before she could stop him. He grabbed the letters and the walkie-talkie, still refusing to look at her, and stubbornly walked into an empty field adjacent to the road.

He walked and walked until his feet hurt and he rounded a bend so that the small trees and shrubbery hid the van from view – hid himself from Michonne. Feeling all his age and older, he lowered himself to the ground to rest, but every muscle in his body was tremoring, his lungs bursting from holding in sobs. Rick sniffled miserably and stared down at the contents of his hands. Carl’s letter for him peeked out, but he ignored it, still not ready, still feeling it was too soon. But Negan’s letter…

Rick read it without a second thought. He recognized Carl’s handwriting – still not much better from school, but there hadn’t been a need for writing much. But the words…Rick knew they were Carl’s, but he didn’t want them to be. Careful not to dampen the letter as he wiped at his eyes, Rick sighed again, so confused. None of this made sense, and none of this was supposed to happen.

Climbing to his feet again, Rick made up his mind and clicked his radio. It crackled to life and he gathered his strength to say without a quaver in his voice, “Get me Negan.”

Surprisingly, he didn’t have to wait long. A man answered – not Negan, but not a Savior Rick recognized either. The voice belligerently questioned, “Who the hell is asking?”

Pulling the walkie-talkie to his mouth again, he growled his name. “It’s Rick Grimes.”

Again, he didn’t have to wait long before their response, and this time Rick knew it was Negan. “Ricky,” Negan crooned, his low voice still grating across Rick’s nerves and gliding across Rick’s eardrums even with the slight walkie-talkie distortion. “Look at you, callin’ me up. You wanna tell me where you are, baby, so we can do this face-to-face? Phone sex is nice, but I don’t think you’d be any fucking good at it.”

In the field, Rick started to pace. He tried to convince himself that he was doing this for Carl because of the damn letter, but Rick knew that he was doing this to feel better. There was no one he could talk to – not even Michonne – but Negan.

Rick didn’t know why he picked Negan. But ever since he had finished Carl’s grave this morning, all Rick thought about was Negan. He wanted revenge. Killing walkers wasn’t enough – he wanted Negan dead just like his boy. A man like Negan shouldn’t have outlived Carl.

But it was more than revenge and he knew that, too. There were a few instances where Rick let himself get too close. Times when Negan’s crooning and insinuations were just too tempting for Rick to resist. Sometimes he lingered on them, thought about them absently as he’d reach down and touch himself. Negan made promises to be taken care of, to be safe and made to feel so good. Rick had wanted to believe it so bad, but everyone around him pushed for war and Rick let his head lead him that way rather than listening to anything else.

There had been a time, at the beginning, when he and Carl had first met Siddiq. They were walking back from the gas station to their vehicles, and Rick hadn’t understood why Carl was upset with him. Carl talked about how there needed to be something after the war, and Rick didn’t want to say out loud what that would be, what it could have been.

Carl said the words for him.

It’s funny, it started much like his conversation with Michonne today. Rick explained how he shot above Siddiq’s head, but Carl was still visibly upset. He mentioned something about hope before he explained.

“I know what he did, Dad. I was there, I remember what he did and what he made you do.” At Rick’s sharp look, Carl added, “What he asked you to do. But I also saw him at his Sanctuary.” Rick remembered what Carl had told him, about the workers and the wives. It angered Rick at the time, made him feel like a pawn, but his anger was mitigated as Carl continued, “Dad, I don’t think killing him will solve everything. The Saviors are just like us. Killing you wouldn’t change who we are – we wouldn’t stop fighting.”

“What do you suggest, Carl? You want us to grow strawberries together?”

“Maybe.” Carl had shrugged awkwardly, still lugging the half-empty gas cannister. “Not at first, but maybe one day he can grow his own damn garden instead of taking from ours.”

“Carl,” Rick gently admonished with a warning finger.

“I know there was something between the two of you,” Carl changed the subject, more perceptive than Rick wanted to give him credit for. He must’ve gotten that from Lori, he noted sadly. “I don’t know how far it went – and I don’t want to know – but Dad, there can still be something after.”

Now, standing in the field knowing that his son was in the ground with dirt and bugs, cold, rotting – Rick didn’t want there to be anything after.

“Carl’s dead,” Rick forced himself to say. Mechanically, he recited what he planned, refusing to be sidetracked by Negan’s coquettish nature. “He wrote letters. He wrote one to you. He asked you to stop. He asked me to stop. He asked us for peace.” Pausing, Rick held in his sniffles.

Rick wanted to cry. He wanted to lay ground in the grass and dig up the earth until it swallowed him like his son’s corpse – he was so light when Rick lifted him, barely anything, just a boy. When it had happened, Rick hadn’t let himself cry much. For Carl he didn’t, and for Michonne either. There hadn’t been time, there still wasn’t time. But Rick wanted to cry and be grounded by something, to be held and allowed to selfishly cry without thinking about anyone else’s tears.

But for Negan, he wouldn’t let himself cry now. Instead, he snarled into the walkie-talkie, “It’s too late for that! Even if we wanted a deal now, it doesn’t matter. I’m gonna kill you.”

Expecting some smart-ass retort or for Negan to lord Carl’s death other him, Rick was shocked when he heard Negan’s voice on the other side sound so muted. “How did it happen?”

“What?”

“How did he die?” Negan clarified, still speaking uncharacteristically softly, “Was it us? Was it the grenades? The fire?”

“It wasn’t you!” Rick snapped, desperately wanting that to be a lie. If Negan had done it, at least it would’ve been easier, and Rick would feel justified to cut himself loose from this – whatever this was. “Carl went out to help someone,” Rick choked, “And he got bit.”

Instantly, there was a click on the other side as soon as Rick let go. “God damn it,” Negan muttered, and Rick could hear the sincerity. He knew Negan meant it. “Shit. I, um, I am sorry. You know, I wanted him to be part of things. I had plans.” Rick’s eyes went unfocused as he listened, and in this moment of weakness, grief, and solitude he allowed himself to be comforted by Negan’s voice. “He – that kid, that kid was the future.”

Serenity was swallowed by his rage because Rick knew there was no future without Carl. To Negan, though, he told him, “The only future is one where you’re dead!”

“What the hell are you doing, Rick?” Negan’s tone was only slightly annoyed now, less pitying than before. Rick’s eyes slipped shut to hold in the tears. “Why are you fighting? Why are you making this so hard? Because you couldn’t leave shit well enough alone. Your son is dead, Rick. Stop now before someone else you love dies and I’m fucking responsible for it. I don’t want that, Rick. You set this course. Who’s next to bite the goddamn dust?”

“You are!”

“Rick,” Negan soothingly reprimanded, if that were possible, “Rick, why are you so obsessed with this? Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow – all that bullshit. The life you’re living now? There is no tomorrow. You have to take your fucking chances now in this war you started.”

As Negan spoke, Rick found himself lowering to the ground. He kneeled, the long blades of grassing yielding to his knees, offering a slight cushion. Holding the walkie-talkie close to his ear, Rick could imagine Negan here with him now. All he needed was a touch on his jaw – the wind blew and a blade tickled across his cheek, and tears leaked from his closed eyes.

“You see, Rick, honey, I stop people from dying. I am the answer. Now, it may have taken a hard lesson for you to hear it, but you should hear it now. It’s time. Do not let any more of your shit decisions cost you to lose anyone else you love. That garbage – that fucking sticks with you like shit. Forever.” Negan sounded like he spoke from experience, but at the moment Rick didn’t care or want to know.

With a sigh, Negan added, “Just like Carl will. Hell, I’m feeling it and I’m gonna be feeling it for a while. You could have let me save all of you. I mean, that’s why we started this shit to begin with. You and I could’ve had something, Rick. Life coulda been good for you and your kids. I could’ve saved Carl, kept him protected and damn safe.”

Rick sunk the fingers of his left hand in the dirt up to his silver wedding band – and then pressed in further, not caring about the dirt under his nails.

“So,” Negan continued to lecture, “you can sit there and you can say that you’re gonna fucking kill me or whatever, but you won’t. We both know why – because that shit wasn’t one sided with me. You may have everyone else fooled, darlin’, but I know you’re just as much as a monster as I am. One in the same. Every step of the way, we’ve been on the same wavelength.”

The walkie-talkie crackled, and Rick wondered if anyone had been listening. He was tired, though, that he just didn’t care. It’s not like anything Negan had said was wrong, either, Rick was ashamed to admit to himself.

“Just give up, Rick. Fucking give in to me,” Negan insisted, voice low and urgent and truthful. “Give in, baby, because you already have – and you’ve already lost.”

With finality, the walkie-talkie crackled one last time, and Rick knew that Negan wasn’t on the other side anymore. Weary, Rick opened his eyes, nearly overwhelmed by the light, and collected himself in the empty, quiet field. He wiped his eyes with his grimy hands and tucked the letters in his pocket – careful not to crinkle them – and clipped the walkie-talkie to his belt. On shaky legs, he walked back to the van, and avoided Michonne’s eyes again.

She didn’t ask why his eyes were red-rimmed and Rick didn’t admit that he was in love with someone else.

But he had the most awful feeling that she already knew that, too.


	2. Beast with Two Backs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick can't let Negan go, but he can't let go of the pain either.

At the Hilltop, Rick inevitably found himself at Glenn and Abraham’s graves again. This is where he started the war, kneeling by their gravesites, asking them to watch out for Maggie and her baby, and Alexandria. Now as he knelt here again, he was begging for forgiveness and hoping that wherever they were Carl was there, too. At least his boy wouldn’t be alone, but part of Rick wished that Carl would be buried here instead of next to an empty grave and the graves of Alexandrians Rick didn’t even know. Carl should be with family.

Quiet footsteps alerted Rick to someone behind him, and he hastily wiped away the remnants of his tears. When he turned he was expecting Michonne again, coming to confront him and get him to talk, but surprisingly it was Daryl. Their argument seemed miles away by now, but Rick had ignored him when he entered the Hilltop in favor of holding his daughter. Guilt bloomed in his chest.

Daryl started talking, hesitant at first, but louder than he had been lately and less awkward. “You know, I – I look around and I think about the people that are gone and the people that are still here. It ain't right. And it ain't fair.

Look, about what I did at Sanctuary, trying to end it real quick I just wanted it done. I didn't want to give them another chance, not again. And I didn't care who was there. I don't know if that makes it right or –”

“It does,” Rick interrupted as he suddenly stood. “I didn't want to risk killing innocent people. I should've just been worrying about our people.” He put his hands on his hips, looking more at the sky than he was at Daryl, but when he did he repeated what he remembered Daryl telling him: “Hell with anyone else.”

It was strange that Daryl didn’t look happy to hear that. In fact, the look on his face was similar to Michonne’s. One of disappointment. “We'll keep fighting,” Daryl said instead, “Until you're ready.”

“I'm ready,” Rick replied without any hesitation. He lifted his chin, trying to steady the tremble in his jaw, trying to keep his nose in the air like a proud and confident leader should be instead of the mess that he was inside. “Maggie's got lookouts out there, every half-mile, waiting to signal each other, I know.”

“Yeah,” Daryl hummed, back to his laconic responses.

“I'm going, too.” Rick gestured to somewhere out there beyond the confining, safe walls. He needed space, he didn’t want to talk, he wanted to scream and bleed and cry and collapse and fight and die. “To make sure we're all ready,” was what Rick said instead by way of explanation.

Daryl was quick to offer help.

“I'll go with you.”

Rick was quick to shut him down.

“We should split up,” he offered, “We're covering as much ground as we can.”

“All right,” Daryl agreed, but Rick could tell he was hurt and worried.

“I'm okay,” Rick insisted, feeling like this whole conversation was so robotic.

“Yeah?”

Rick’s façade cracked and broke, his grief pouring out of his pores before he could help it. His face crumpled and he looked away, shaking his head no. He pulled the strings around him tighter and back into place to hold it all in before he could look back at Daryl again. “I'm gonna be okay,” Rick amended.

This time Daryl didn’t say anything, still looking doubtful as he was concerned. He had turned to leave, but Rick couldn’t leave it there.

“Daryl,” he called and watched his friend turn halfway back around again. “Thank you,” Rick’s voice was soft and laden with apology, “For getting them here.”

Pressing his lips together, Daryl nodded shortly, face half-hidden behind his long and greasy hair. Rick knew that Daryl understood that much at least. Daryl wouldn’t understand about Negan, but he understood about Carl and that was enough.

* * *

 

After that Rick left quickly, despite many people’s protests that he should sleep and rest. As he was leaving, he saw Michonne on the wall, and Rick knew that she wouldn’t be able to rest either, though she was upset that he was leaving. Rick tried not to think about that.

He drove out to the designated spot and climbed on the roof to keep watch. Despite how tired and dry his eyes were from crying, Rick didn’t let himself be lax with his vigilance. He didn’t let himself think either. All he was were a pair of binoculars on top of a car in the hot sun.

As it was, it paid off. The Saviors were coming. Nimbly, Rick hopped off his car and reached through the open window to blow the horn – but then he hesitated. Hand hovering in midair, delaying the much-needed signal, Rick looked again at the line of cars.

_Negan._

Lifting the binoculars to his eyes again, Rick peered through and focused on the last car. It was a black Dodge Charger – seemed like Negan’s style. And through the tinted windows, Rick saw Negan. Heat flooded his veins and seared his nerves, pooled in his stomach until it frothed up his throat and boiled his lips into a snarl. Rick saw red.

Tossing the binoculars in the car, Rick climbed in and started it up before charging down the hill to cut Negan off. He interwove through the city, old cop training rearing its head as Rick sped down a narrow alley way. Negan’s car was last in the line, and Rick caught him just in time to peg him and veer their cars away from the other Saviors.

Negan gave a good chase, his car built for speed, but his driving was unsteady as he zigzagged on the road. Absently, Rick wondered if Negan was injured, but then that thought faded away as Rick’s own hurt ached in his chest. Rick was catching up fast as he leaned heavily on the gas, steering wheel held tight in his white-knuckled fists. There was no thinking, only gut-feeling spurring Rick on to catch Negan. He wasn’t sure what all he would do when he finally caught him.

Rick slammed into Negan’s car again, and they both went –

Tumbling.

Spinning.

Crashing.

He didn’t feel pain, didn’t check if he was hurt, saw blood and barely acknowledged it. Rick didn’t think about Negan either, only enough to grab his gun and start shooting the Dodge Charger’s exposed belly. Negan made a mad dash to the nearby building, avoiding walkers as he went, still gripping that goddamn stupid bat.

All too soon, Rick ran out of bullets in that as he chased him inside. He abandoned the gun and as soon as he crossed the threshold he ducked to avoid the bat, warned by Negan’s loud grunt of effort for the hard swing and miss. Rick pulled out his Colt Python, shooting blindly, and Negan once again ran away, further inside the dark building. There was writing on the wall; Rick didn’t read it. Instead, he chased.

Negan was dashing up the staircase, taking two steps at a time when Rick lifted his gun and pulled the trigger.

_Click, click, click._

Empty.

Negan knew the sound, and his bravado and bravery returned as he spun on his heel at the top of the stairs.

“Hey, baby,” he greeted Rick warmly, as if Rick just got home from work with the bacon. “You are out of bullets. Why don’t you come on up here and greet me with a wet, sloppy kiss instead, sweetheart?” He crooked the fingers of his free hand and spun Lucille in a slow, mesmerizing arc with the other.

Marveling at how Negan could so easily slip back into the form of a lover even after all that, Rick slowly began to climb the stairs to answer Negan’s siren call.

“That’s it, baby. Come to Daddy,” Negan crooned. “I think after that little fucking stunt you pulled you deserve a fucking ass-beating for that. Some come on up here and get your licks.” Even in the darkness, Negan’s smile was bright – brighter than Michonne’s. “Don’t worry, hon. I’m gonna kiss it all better.”

Lightning hot rage charged through Rick’s body and he was reenergized again with fury. He holstered his pistol in favor for his hatchet, and with all the strength of his body – he threw it at Negan’s head.

If Negan hadn’t have dropped to the side and out of the way, he’d be dead. There were so many times he should’ve been dead. But now, he was hanging by his fingertips, calling for his bat in the darkness below, totally at Rick’s mercy.

Taking his time, Rick pulled his hatchet from the wall and stood in front of Negan. Memories of Carl as a toddler in a bouncer, hanging in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen drifted through Rick’s mind, clouding his fury and coloring it with hurt. He and Lori must’ve watched _The Lion King_ a thousand times with Carl, but he would always fall asleep after the first song.

“Oh, you asshole,” Negan growled, eyes hateful, and something in Rick snapped. He jerked down to slice Negan’s fingers through with the hatchet, but of course the man dropped with a sharp yell and thump way below. Rick began his descent to the basement.

There, it was much darker, and as Rick mockingly whistled for Negan, he pulled out Glenn’s lighter that the man had loaned to him before they went out in the woods that night. Distantly, he could hear the sound of walkers, and he hoped they weren’t eating Negan. Rick wanted that pleasure for himself. He called out, “You still alive?”

It didn’t take long to hear Negan’s voice. “I’m a goddamn cat.” He sounded more annoyed than injured, and Rick took comfort in that at least as he followed the sound.

“So, where's your people? They should be here by now.” The dust in the air clung to Rick’s already sore throat. It was hard for him to speak too loud without sounding creaky. “We didn't get that far.”

“Oh, they're coming,” Negan cockily reassured him.

Prowling through the darkness, Rick trained his ears. He needed Negan to keep talking to find him, or at least to keep talking so that Negan would come to him. Taking a leaf out of Negan’s book, he started to taunt, “This is where you die…in the dark, all alone.” His voice dripped with mock pity.

In comparison, Negan’s voice flared with anger. “What the hell is your problem, Rick?” There was a muffled thud, and Rick’s feet headed towards that. “Huh?” Negan continued, muttering his swears, “I mean, I know you're working through some shit. The worst kind of shit, I know. But if you aren't the most stubborn know-it-all prick I've ever crossed dicks with – why didn't you just let me save you, Rick? I'm good at it.”

Suddenly, Negan’s voice dropped in pitch, saturated with honey. “I’m good at a lot of things, darlin’. I could’ve showed you all of that sweetness if you let me. I wanted to be sweet to you, Rick. Wanted to give you all of that,” then Negan’s voice curdled, “but then you took a massive shit on that all because you clearly don’t fucking want to be saved. But I swear to fuck I’m good at it. I saved everybody in the Sanctuary, the Outpost, Hilltop, Kingdom I saved them all. Their kids can grow up safe. They didn't lose one after we took over.

All those people were doing just fine before Rick Grimes!”

It was hard for Rick to not be distracted, but he paused when the moans and groans of walkers was overwhelming Negan’s croons. The stench of death and gasoline was heavy and choking in Rick’s nose as he held up the lighter to a barred off door. It warned to stay out, but Rick’s mind was already forming a plan for how to get in there instead.

“You know what, Rick, we could’ve been a damn family one day. Those plans I had for Carl? He would’ve made me a good lieutenant. Hell, that little angel could still make me a lieutenant one day if you give in for me. Too bad Carl never got that chance. Kind of makes me sick just thinking about it. All that wasted potential. But, see, there is still hope for you. A one-time deal that I will make in the memory of your bad-ass son, someone that I actually respected – and a marriage proposal for you, honey.

“You get Hilltop, Kingdom, Alexandria to fall in line, and our arrangement is back in place, and you are forgiven, Rick, baby. I will lower my take from 50% to 25% A lousy 25%. But you, you got to come work for me. Janitorial to start. Not bad at all. Got this sexy little French maid outfit in mind for you. Then you can be one of my lovers, Ricky, and you’ll never have to lift a fucking pinkie again.

“And your people, they get to live like 75% kings! Now, that is an epic freakin' Christmas-Hanukah-Kwanzaa gift all rolled up into one, considering what a thorn in my ass cheek you've all been – and not in a good way here lately, darlin’.”

“Now,” Rick interjected, trying to pull himself away from what Negan offered. What was offered was good – so good, but he knew nobody would take it. And what he said about Carl soured in Rick’s mouth. “Why would I trust any deal offered to me after what you did to Jadis' people?”

“The fucking garbage-ass people?” Negan actually sounded surprised, and Rick tried not to think about how well Negan could pretend. “The hell are you talking about?”

“The Scavengers. You killed them. All of them. A whole community just wiped out. Is that how you ‘save’ people?” Rick felt like a fool dancing in the darkness looking for Negan, but his heart was racing with the absolute thrill of it. When he and Negan had been close, Negan was always the one in power, offering his affection. But now Rick was the one who could offer even more, he realized, as he found Lucille sitting pretty and innocuous on the ground. He scooped her up and moved back to the door again, busying his hands with the lighter and gasoline.

“Still just me and you even though plenty of your people must've seen you go. See,” Rick’s arrogance was returning, “See, it's times like this, you realize who your true friends are. No one's coming for you.”

He paused, but Negan didn’t have any last flirtatious remarks or snappy come-backs, not even a curse. Slowly, he continued and picked up speed as he went, “What you had, oh, that was never gonna last. Sooner or later, you were gonna meet someone like me. You can't save me or my people or even yours. You can't save anyone, because you don't care about anyone. You use people to bring food, to sleep with you, to protect you. The only thing you care about is this bat. You can't even save that.”

“Rick, honey,” Negan spoke up again, his voice closer than before. Weary, Rick lifted the lighter and peered into the darkness. “Oh, you’re so wrong. I’m never gonna meet another like you. And I can save people and I do give a shit about people. Like you, sweetheart. You could let me care about you and save you. I could bring you food and sleep with you and protect you instead, Rick. It’s a fucking partnership. Don’t you get that?”

Out of the darkness, Negan stepped forward into the weak lighting. Shadows blurred his face so much so that Rick couldn’t decipher his expression. But his hands were outstretched, palms up, and his tone had been sad and placating. On guard, Rick raised Lucille in warning, bracing himself, but Negan didn’t lunge.

“Come on, Rick. One time. You and me.”

Rick’s hands trembled and he wasn’t sure if it was with fear, rage, or exhaustion. But he found himself agreeing anyway. “One time…”

They moved towards each other, together, the lighter and bat dropped to the ground as they crashed into each other. Rick’s movements were jerky, borderline violent, but Negan smoothed his hands down Rick’s back, not minding his sweat-soaked shirt. Negan pulled Rick close to him until his belt buckles were uncomfortably pressing against the seam of Rick’s jeans, and he tilted Rick’s chin up with the gentlest touch of his index finger.

“Let go, Rick, let go.”

Nodded along, Rick parroted, “Yes, to you.”

“That’s my darlin’,” Negan hummed and leaned down for a kiss.

In the darkness, Rick found it so much easier to let go like Negan said. But his mind didn’t conjure up anyone else’s face. He kissed Negan knowing it was Negan and loving that it was Negan.

Clawing his hands up Negan’s chest, Rick panted into his open mouth, “Please. Please just. Make the pain go away.”

“You gonna give in to me, Rick?” Negan’s hands already started to strip away their clothes, his hands steady and touch confident. It soothed Rick as he allowed Negan to take the lead in this chase. “Rick, if you do this, I want this to be over. Let me save you.”

Scattering kisses up and down Negan’s exposed neck and jaw, Rick whispered tightly, “Yes. I want that, too.”

“Good,” Negan cooed, and he moved Rick back towards the wall. With his bare back pressed against the rough brick, Rick knew he’d be sore and cold and bruised – but he deserved it. He would take the cost of the pain for the pleasure in the present.

Negan hitched up Rick’s legs over his slender hips, and their hard cocks rubbed against each other, ramping up the pleasure. Lust clouded Rick’s mind, his blood rushed in his ears. He was breathing heavily and his heart beat was so loud, but over it all he could hear Negan’s sweetness as he stroked Rick’s cock in his hand.

“Oh, Rick. I’ve wanted you like this for so long. Sweetheart, you’re perfect for me and you’re gonna be mine and only fucking mine.” Negan’s fingers tapped on Rick’s mouth, and wordlessly Rick sucked on them, lathering them with his saliva.

He heard as much as he felt Negan suck in a deep breath and release it with a growl. “Fuck, you are just something, honey.” His slickened fingers moved down between their bodies, creeping towards Rick’s fluttering, needy hole. “Just…” his slid one finger inside and curled it, breathing his reverence for Rick, “Beautiful.”

Borderline whining, Rick pressed his shoulder blades back into the scratchy brick, crossing his ankles securely behind Negan’s back. “You, you don’t know that. You can’t see me now.”

“Oh, I can see you just fine, darlin’. You could see me, too, if you opened those gorgeous fucking baby blues for me.”

Rick hadn’t known that they were shut. When he opened them and allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness, he could see how close Negan’s face was as he hovered over him, sliding his fingers inside his ass, stretching him open until he was tender and searching for his prostate.

“You ready for me, Rick?”

Pressing his kiss swollen lips together to stifle his moans, Rick nodded, unable to form words.

With a kiss, Negan removed his fingers, leaving Rick gaping. With another, sweeter kiss, Negan moved his cock until it was pressed just inside of Rick. With a slower kiss, he sunk in deep, swallowing Rick’s cries and nosing away the tears. And with one last hungry kiss, Negan moved his hips and fucked Rick against the wall until they spent themselves.

Rick spilled on Negan’s stomach and tipped forward, clinging to the slighter man’s shoulders and Negan continued to fuck him through his orgasm, chasing his own completion. Negan’s cock was locked tight in Rick’s asshole when he spilled himself inside, coating his walls until his release dripped when he pulled out his flaccid cock. Rick’s whole body was already aching, but he didn’t care as he chased Negan’s mouth for more of the kisses, balms to his soul and his hurt.

“Thank you,” Rick admitted softly, stroking his palm weakly over Negan’s stubbled cheek. “For taking the hurt away for a bit.”

“Thank you for letting me save you, Rick.”

* * *

 

They cleaned up as much as they could, tucking themselves away in their clothes again, uncomfortable with their sweat-slickened skin. The noise of the walkers was louder than ever and Negan’s people still hadn’t come. With shyness, Rick returned Lucille, and started to lead Negan out of the darkness.

But their noises must’ve attracted more walkers because suddenly they were swarmed. Each of them fought off the dead as much as they could – but they were separated. Rick saw Negan make it out of the building, escaping into the sunlight, and though he was tired, he fought hard to make it out there with him. Death was the furthest thing from Rick’s mind now.

By the time he made it outside, blinking in the sunshine, Rick was confused. Negan was gone, and the hurt crept back into his heart. Next time, he vowed that he would not give Negan another chance. He would kill him.


	3. Heart with Two Halves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carl is dead, and Rick is in shambles. His way to grieve is to track Negan down and he doesn’t care who dies. Negan can’t say he doesn’t love the attention, but he does wish that the attention was softer.

When Rick made it back with the others, the Hilltop was in the middle of an invasion. Rick knew there was no way that Negan had made it back in time to be part of this, but Rick also knew that because he hadn’t sounded the alarm the Hilltop didn’t have enough time to prepare. Fueled still by his grief and his anger, Rick attacked the Saviors.

None of them had guns – _used up all their bullets with the walkers_ – so Rick was able to get up close and personal. Slamming his hatchet into chests until it cracked sternums and split hearts felt good, the blood spurting up and wetting his face, still warm and fresh. It felt so good, even if his body was sore from his past pleasantness with Negan – but Rick didn’t allow himself to dwell on that. It was all a lie, a trick where Negan could show him how weak he was and Rick hated how easily he was manipulated. _Never again_ , he promised himself.

_Never again!_

“Rick!”

Siddiq raised his bloodied hands from where he was applying pressure to Tobin’s chest, and Rick tilted his head, squinting as he tried to remember through the fog of bloodlust. Once he did remember, his grief overwhelmed him again and his knees nearly buckled.

“Just stay here.”

To escape the pain, Rick kept killing, regrouping with his family – _what was left of them_ – in one final push to drive the Saviors out of the Hilltop’s walls. According to Maggie’s plan, they were successful. Still, the victory was sour in Rick’s mouth as he and Maggie stood side by side at the gates, shooting futile bullets into the retreating Saviors’ vehicles. Some small part of Rick was heartened by it, though. Maggie would be a good leader when this was all over – _once he was gone_.

Breathing heavily, they stared out into the darkness until the red glow of the taillights faded from view, and then they kept staring. Their breath was barely visible, the nights not yet cold enough for that, but they will be soon. This not would be hot and humid, though, heavy with an impending storm they all felt in their bones.

Maggie spoke first. “I wanted them dead,” she confessed into the suffocating night. “All of them. Negan most of all.”

Even though it was broken, Rick’s heart twinged at the name. “Yeah,” he softly replied, “Me too.”

With a wild sort of desperation, one laden with a grief Rick was all too familiar with, Maggie turned to him and gripped his forearm tight, her other hand still clutching her lowered pistol. “Did you see him?”

"He wasn’t here,” Rick answered too quickly, shaking his head. At Maggie’s confused and lost look, he continued, “I saw him out there. I broke away and tried to kill him.” He sighed and looked away, unable to stand the weight of her disappointed, yet understanding gaze. Everyone’s pity was a heavier burden than the responsibility they placed on him with their lives. “I didn’t, but I tried.”

In the dark, Maggie sniffled. “Thank you.”

* * *

 

 Rick kept to himself after that, unless they were strategizing for the war. He needed the privacy to grieve and lick his wounds, to busy his thoughts. Whenever he was around his broken, little family, all he saw was Carl again. He remembered Daryl teaching Carl how to track and hunt, to make snares for rabbits. He remembered Rosita cracking a smile at Carl’s jokes, affectionately patting him on the shoulder. He remembered Tara laughing with Carol about some cartoon they had both seen before the end. He remembered Carol holding Carl at the beginning as both of them grieved for Sophia.

_Would he be with Sophia now? Do all of the bitten go to the same place? Is Lori there? Shane?_

Pausing from where he was prying the protective two-by-fours from the window, Rick heard the floorboards creak. He turned, but it was only Michonne, as quiet as a cat as always. “Saved you this turnip,” she offered by way of explanation.

Turning back to the window, Rick muttered shortly, “Yeah. I’m okay.” He pulled harder on the boards, but he could feel Michonne’s knowing eyes on his back. With a sigh, he explained, “Maggie turned off the generators to save on gas.” The board popped off in his hand and he set it aside before continuing with another. “The kids are gonna need air in this heat.”

“Mhm.” The back of Rick’s neck tingled as Michonne stepped closer. He felt more than he saw her reach out to him in every way she could. “Can I take a look at that cut? I have some stuff to clean it.” She was referring to the one on his hand, the one from when they first met Jadis. He had been happy with just Michonne, then, he felt like the war was justified. Carl was alive then, too.

Before she could touch him, Rick shied away from her touch. Part of him wondered if it was because he felt filthy, to fouled by his infidelity for her tender touch. Inside though, Rick knew it was because he only wanted Negan’s touch. He had still yet to bathe, to scrub himself clean from Negan’s essence. If he thought it was out of martyrdom to show how damned he was, how he was a fool before and he never will be again, Rick knew that was a lie, too.

“Let me get this done first,” Rick made his excuse instead. The hurt in Michonne was as palpable as his own, even more so because he knew she grieved Carl like a son, too. He knew he was wrong, he should talk to her, he should tell her…but Rick felt like it was a burden only he could bear.

As he pulled another board free from the window, though, and Michonne had yet to leave, staring sadly at his back – his sore back, bruised and scraped raw from the brick wall – and the back of his neck, where his sweat-limpened shirt collar did nothing to hide the love-bruises ( _just bruises, marks of shame and domination, damnation_ ) – Rick knew that he had to talk.

“I saw him at the back of the convoy.” Rick knew he didn’t have to say who ‘he’ was. He lifted his head from where he had been staring at his busied hands –

_"Idle hands do the devil’s work, Richard,” Grandma had said. Clear as day he could see her now in her rocking chair on the front porch, Carl in her lap, his chubby toddler hands in the basket of peas she was shelling. “Come help me with these peas, honey.”_

– He stared straight ahead at nothing with his dull eyes. The boards hadn’t yet been removed from eye-level yet, and he couldn’t see outside. Rick wondered if this was how a coffin felt, if it was better that his boy hadn’t been packed away in a box like they did every year with the Christmas tree and Carl would beg, _“Just a little longer, please!”_

“That’s why I did it.” Rick blinked away the memories, forcing them to the back of his mind.

“What did you do, Rick?”

Tipping his head forward with a _thump_ on the two-by-four, Rick squeezed his eyes shut. His heart spasmed. He could feel the tears coming. His knuckles blanched from the grip he had on the two-by-four. “I gave in to him.”

“What did you _do_ , Rick?”

His voice was quiet as a whisper and cracked when he answered, all the breath expelled from his lungs, causing him to deflate and wither, shoulders dropping, like snow like leaves like rain – “I slept with him.”

Damning silence filled the room until Rick felt like the ceiling was going to come crashing down, so much damn pressure. Then Michonne placed her palm between his shoulder blades, pressing on his spine like she knew he liked, and though it stung from his scratches and bruises, her touch filled him with relief again, and once more he could collect himself.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

It wasn’t forgiveness, but understanding was good enough. With a sigh, Rick straightened his spine and continued pulling at the two-by-fours. Michonne stepped away, falling into his shadow. “I had to try.” Rick’s voice was thick with emotion when he repeated, “I had to.”

* * *

 

Later in the day, Rick sat out on the mansion’s front steps, meticulously cleaning his Colt Python in the sunlight until the steel gleamed in the sun. As he pushed the bullets into the chamber, he overheard Carol talking to the young blond boy from the Kingdom that looked so much like her Sophia.

“I wouldn’t have died if I went out there,” he insisted stubbornly. A lot like Carl at the farm when he asked for a gun.

_"I'm not gonna play with it, Mom. It's not a toy. I'm sorry I disappointed you, but I want to look for Sophia and I want to defend our camp. I can't do that without a gun.”_

“You would have, Henry,” Carol said with a weathered sort of experience of a childless mother. Rick wondered if he would ever sound like that, if he would talk to Judith in the same sort of way.

" _Sophia, you have to do exactly as I say. Hide in there. Squeeze in tight. I’ll draw them away from you.”_

_"No, no, don’t leave me!”_

_"Listen, listen, listen, listen._ _They don’t get winded; I do. I can only deal with one at a time. I wouldn’t be able to protect you. This is how we both survive. You understand? Okay?”_

“Just trust me.”

_“I saw that walker… I was gonna shoot it, when he was stuck in the mud. I was, I was throwing rocks at him and stuff. But I was gonna do it – shoot it right in the head. And it, it got free, came after me and I ran away… If I had killed it, Dale would still be here.”_

_“Carl, I want you to stop that, okay? This ain't your fault, but you need to hold onto this. You need to protect yourself. As long as I'm around you, nothing's gonna happen to you, Carl. But I can't keep my eyes on you 24/7. Only you can do that.”_

“You would have.”

_“It’s not enough, Dad. There has to be something after.”_

“I could treat your wound.”

Siddiq’s voice broke into Rick’s reverie, and Rick was only slightly relieved. Memory Lane now was less of a lane and more of a flood of emotions, of regrets. So many lost children.

“Wouldn’t want it to get infected,” Siddiq explained.

Glancing at him from the corner of his eye – as much as he could bear to see the man, the boy his son died for – Rick jerked his head in acquiescence and held out his injured hand.

Siddiq quickly sat down, gingerly taking Rick’s hand and examining the old, dirty wrap. “There’s, um, a prayer for the dead I first heard when I was a little boy.” Rick tensed, but Siddiq didn’t seem to notice as he started sorting through his medical tools for more bandages and ointment. “It, uh, ended with the phrase, _Do Not Send Us Astray After ‘Them’_ – those he who died,” he helpfully tacked on.

“Don’t.”

Jerking his hand free, Rick stood and walked away before he did something he would regret. Before he did something that would make his son’s death be in vain.

* * *

 

After that, Rick had little time for reflection. The Saviors had poisoned their weapons, and Rick cursed himself over and over for not realizing it when he had held Lucille in his hands. Negan had been a distraction.

_Never again._

The next day, as they waited for the wounded to die –

_Tara laughed and laughed, gently pushing Carl’s bony shoulder. He was sprouting up fast and he didn’t eat enough as he should. Rick tried not to think about that as he watched Tara tease Carl._

_"How could you think_ An American Tail _was a Disney movie? Two different mice!”_

_"I dunno! They sing a lot.”_

_"All kid movies have singing.”_

_"Whatever, I’m not a kid.”_

_Rick remembered the prison, and how he had brought_ Legos _in for Carl that he pushed aside in favor for his pistol._

_Rolling her eyes, Tara’s ponytail bounced. “Uh-huh.”_

– Dwight had shot Tara. Another death on Rick’s shoulders. He should’ve killed Dwight outright instead of using him. Like Negan used him. Like Rick should’ve killed Negan, because in the end, what did he do? Negan didn’t take the pain away. It was still there.

Turning into the bedroom he was given to share with Michonne, Rick paused when he saw her at the dresser. The drawer where they had put the letters, the ones they hadn’t already given out, –

_Enid was inconsolable, Maggie had said. Even moreso after Michonne gave her the letter. Rick hadn’t read hers, and he was glad. She would move on to love another. He had. Beth had, when she was alive... Carol had. Even Lori had, when she was alive... With Shane, his brother, when he was alive…_

– was open and Michonne had her hand halfway stuck in, like she was caught with her hand in the cookie jar. But in her fist was a bitter goodbye letter rather than a sweet cookie –

_“Oatmeal raisin?” Carl stuck his tongue out. “Yuck! Why can’t we get chocolate chip? Those are actually sweet and taste good.”_

_Placing the break-and-bake pack of oatmeal raisin cookies into the shopping cart, Rick sagely answered, “Because Mom said so. Less sugar.”_

_“Less tasty.”_

_“I know.”_

– “Do you…do you want to read it?” Michonne sorted through the letters, offering him her own and his. Rather than answering, Rick brushed past her for the closet and grabbed his jacket. “You’re going out there,” she observed flatly.

“We need food.” And it’s true, they did. Turnips weren’t enough, especially with Judith and baby Gracie. “I’m gonna find some.”

“What did he write you?” Michonne refused to give up.

“I don’t know.” Rick turned back to her, and she was staring at him with her sad eyes. There was no pity, however, because he was just as sad. “I…I can’t.”

“Wait,” she insisted.

“I can’t.”

“You have to.” There was a heaviness in her shoulders that Rick intimately knew because he carried it as well. Her head tilted in that all-knowing way she had that made Rick feel warm and safe and understood. Well, it used to. Michonne’s eyelids were half-lidded and swollen, her voice slightly rough from tears. “I did it, too, when it happened to me.”

Frowning, Rick at first didn’t understand, but then it all suddenly clicked into place.

_She was a mother before._

He never knew.

_Did Carl know?_

“You keep moving to move away from it,” Michonne continued steadily. Her blinks were slow as a barn cat in the sun, and even in grief, she was beautiful and strong like Rick could never be. “Andrea stopped me,” her voice broke as she started to cry again, “and now I’m stopping you.”

Michonne crossed over to him, taking his jacket and passing him his letter instead. “Carl wrote that because he wanted you to read it.” She turned her back on him as she went to hang up his jacket with finality. It was hard to say no to her. “It was one of the last things he ever did.”

When she turned back to him, she had a hand on the doorknob and a finger pointed at him sternly. “You’re staying.”

* * *

 

Rick had stayed. There was little he could do, though, around the Hilltop. Everyone was insisting that he rest and take his time. There was an unspoken explanation ‘to grieve’ at the end of that sentence, but Rick wasn’t even doing that.

Michonne had deposited Judith in his care, thinking she would help revitalize Rick and give him purpose. Feeling like a monster, Rick avoided looking at her. She was Shane’s, he was sure of it, but even though she was that, when he looked at her he saw Carl, too.

_“He looks just like you, you know,” Lori said fondly, resting her head on his shoulder as they watched Carl crawl across the blankets to his favorite toy. It was a stuffed, blue and yellow monkey that Lori’s dad bought at the hospital the day he was born._

_“I sure hope he does,” Rick teased, resting his cheek on top of her head. “The milkman is an awfully ugly fellow.”_

_Lori half-hearted swatted at his chest. “Stop it.”_

With a blink, the memory was gone, leaving only ash in his mouth. Anxiety rippling through his veins, Rick twitched and rocked in his chair, knee bouncing, every muscle coiled like a spring. Staring at the old sheriff hat that once was his – Carl’s – while Judith played on the floor, Rick could hear the whispers in his ears of what people will say after.

_Did you hear? Lost his boy in the war. No, no, it wasn’t the Saviors. It was just a walker._

_Shame._

_All that wasted potential._

Abruptly, Rick stood and walked around Judith to the closet. Idle hands and all that, as his grandmother had put it. She died a week before Carl turned three-years-old. He had never remembered her.

He had to get out or he would go mad, just like he had at the prison. Rick remembered the phone calls… Luckily, there was no landline here. He was afraid of who would be on the other side of the line, now. Would it be Shane again? Lori? Sometimes, he missed seeing her ghost.

But Rick knew who he would hear because he just heard him again. Rick wasn’t ready for that. It was too soon, and he did not want to become a victim again.

_Never again._

* * *

 

As soon as Rick put on the coat and walked out the door, he was the model image of the leader everyone wanted him to be. After he dropped Judith off with Gracie’s babysitter, he went to the Savior prisoner that Maggie favored: Alden. Apparently, he believed the escaped Saviors were going to a dilapidated bar; Rick knew the one. They had scavenged there before, he and Michonne had spent the night there –

_"Rick,” Michonne breathed in his ear before he kissed his way down her body. “Rick, we can’t be too loud, remember? There are a few walls missing.”_

_"I’m not gonna be loud,” Rick assured her, slipping his hands from her hips to the button of her jeans._

_She shot him a knowing look of disagreement. “You sure about that?”_

_"I’m positive.” Her jeans pulled off her long, beautiful legs, Rick skated his palms back up her naked thighs. “Tonight is all about you.”_

– Once Rick was outside the walls, the memories didn’t follow him. He needed to be focused. No distractions. Here, he could breathe and not care if he died. Pulling off the road, Rick parked and made his way through the woods, following Alden’s instructions. The roads were compromised by the walkers, and while normally Rick would relish letting loose his anger, this time he wanted more of a challenge. The living fought more than the dead.

What he hadn’t expected was to catch up with Morgan. Now there was a man more broken than he was – shattered, in fact. Rick was split in two, aching and bleeding his grief, but Morgan was a collection of shards, jagged edges that were unforgiving for those that got too close. The more time Rick spent with this Morgan, the more he was sure that he would be like him too, if he kept living. Which is why he needed to die.

But not yet.

They caught up to the Saviors, tricked them, killed them. When it was over, Rick picked his way over the bodies, killing the walkers who ate their fill of Savior meat. One of the men was still alive. With a sort of morbid fascination, even though Rick was intimate with death by now – more than he would’ve liked – Rick knelt beside the bleeding, dying man. The Savior gasped as his lungs filled up with blood, “You said…you said.”

Raising his eyebrows, Rick cut him off almost mockingly, “I lied.”

“I…I didn’t.” Blood bubbled up his throat, leaked out of the corners of his mouth. “We could’ve…we could’ve lived after.” Rick tilted his head. “After this.”

Rick shot the man in his skull until he was dead and then kept shooting until his Colt Python clicked its emptiness. His skin was tacky with blood. He was tired. It felt a lot similar to his time after…with Negan.

Standing, Rick watched Morgan walk through the room and methodically shove his stick through skulls. “Everybody turns,” he explained. That was what he said a lot these days. Like the second time Rick found him, when he had been with Michonne and Carl.

“You saved me,” Rick realized. Morgan didn’t seem to hear him as he continued stabbing skulls. “Morgan, you saved me. I would’ve died.” Now Morgan stopped ignoring him, staring at him levelly. “Maybe on that street, right in front of your house. You didn’t know me. Why’d you do it?”

Morgan started to leave. “We should go.”

“Just tell me.” Rick twitched. For some reason his mind kept drifting to Negan. Should he have let the Saviors deliver him? Did Negan care for these men or did he only pretend like he did with Rick? “Why’d you save me? You had your son there.”

“No,” Morgan denied.

“You did.”

“Hey, no.” Morgan shook his head, and Rick knew it was dangerous to push him, but he didn’t care. He had to know.

“Why’d you save me? Why?”

“Because,” Morgan finally looked Rick in the eye, shifting foot to foot. “Be-because my son was there,” he stuttered, his eyes shuttered closed to hide his soul, his voice laden with grief and broken and everything Rick felt that described himself over and over again.

When Morgan walked away, Rick was left staring at a mirror. There was so much blood on him, none of it his own. If he looked at his hands, he could literally see the blood on them, too, the blood manifested from the ghosts of his past that continued to haunt him. And then Rick realized that even when Morgan was standing there, Rick had still been staring into a mirror.

* * *

 

Together, he and Morgan went back to the Hilltop. They entered the gates alone. Alden was the only one who looked disappointed, but the others looked wary of them, as if they were rabid dogs. With all the blood, Rick couldn’t blame them. He wanted it gone.

He was surprised to see that Tara was still alive, but something bitter in Rick knew that that was only temporary. She would die, too. Maybe in this war. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow. But it was like Morgan said. Everybody turns.

Avoiding Michonne, Rick went inside to scrub himself clean finally. He did not want to be like Morgan.

Just as Rick suspected, though, Michonne sought him out again, catching him dressing after his shower. He was standing by the dresser, looking at himself, really himself. There were no memories right now. None that willing drifted up to recall easily.

“Are you ready now?” Michonne asked him steadily.

Sighing, Rick felt like that was all he ever did now: sigh. “Yes.”

She nodded at him, her locs drifting over her shoulders. “Good.” Michonne turned to leave to give him some privacy, but something in Rick knew that there needed to be a correction.

“Michonne,” he called, and he was surprised to see her so easily turn back to him. She didn’t look hopeful per se, more or less expectant. It put a lot less pressure on him. “I loved you.”

“I know that.” Of course, she did. “I still love you, but I know why you don’t anymore.”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” Rick explained himself. “It just did. We…we connected through it all. I know what he did, I know. But that didn’t stop us.”

“I saw it.” Michonne made it simpler for him. “He was different with you. Gentle. Tender. Like he cared. It was only with you.”

“Did…did other people know? See it, too?”

Michonne paused as she considered. “I don’t know.”

“It doesn’t matter, Michonne. I may love him, but I can’t anymore. That doesn’t change what he did and what I have to do.”

“Okay, Rick.” Michonne took a deep breath. “Okay. One step at a time. Just read Carl’s letter, and whatever you decide to do, I’ll hope you do it. For Carl.”

“Thank you, Michonne.” Rick put her hand on his shoulder whereas before he would’ve pulled her in for a kiss. She just put her hand over his, and they stood like that until the moment passed. Then she left him be, and Rick finally gathered his courage to read his letter.

* * *

 

He read it once.

He read it twice.

He read it again and again and again, and in the morning, he sat on out on the balcony, peering through the bars at the life going on below him. He saw Siddiq bask in the sun, inhaling the fresh air. He saw Jerry, the gentle giant, holding and rocking baby Gracie as he twirled around and sang to her softly. Rick caught snatches of the song…

“Somewhere over the rainbow, bluebirds fly.” Jerry passed underneath as he headed inside. Gracie cooed and burbled happily like babies should, and Rick remembered how Judith did it and Carl, too. “And the dream that you dare to dream, why, oh why can't I?”

Again, Rick turned back to Carl’s letter, and let the memories overtake him; and this time he embraced them.

 

_"I remember my eighth birthday at the KCC, with that giant cake and Aunt Evie showing up on leave, surprising all of us. I remember Mom. I remember Codger. I remember school and going to the movies and Friday night pizza and cartoons and Grandma and Grandpa and church, the summer barbecues and the kiddie pool you got me. Could've used that at the prison._

_“You told me about the walks we would take when I was three. You holding my hand around the neighborhood, all the way to Ross Farm. I didn't know that I remembered them, but I do, because I see the sun and the corn and that cow that walked up to the fence and looked me in the eye. You told me about all that stuff, but it isn't just that stuff. It's how I felt. Holding your hand, I felt happy and special. I felt safe._

_“I thought growing up was about getting a job and maybe a family — being an adult. But growing up is about making yourself and the people you love safe. As safe as you can, because things happen. They happened before. You were shot before things went bad. It kind of felt like things went bad because you were shot. I want to make you feel safe, dad. I want you to feel like I felt when you held my hand. Just to feel that way for five minutes … I'd give anything to make you feel that way now._

_“I wanted to kill Negan. I wish I did. Maybe it would have been done. I don't think it's done now. You went out there again, but I don't think they surrendered. I don't think they will surrender. There are workers in there, Dad. They're just regular people: old people, young people, families. You don't want them to die, Dad. We're so close to starting everything over, and we have friends now. It's that bigger world you used to talk about: the Kingdom, the Hilltop. There's got to be more places, more people out there — a chance for everything to change and keep changing. Everyone giving everyone the opportunity to have a life. A real life._

_“If they won't end it, you have to. You have to give them a way out. You have to find peace with Negan however you can. I know he’ll give you a chance like he gave me a chance. Maybe he only gave me a chance because of you. That’s what it seemed like. I don’t know, I’m not sure, but I saw something between the two of you._

_“I can see the future we all want. Judith is so big and her hair is so long. She gets to go to school, but you lead her around Alexandria. We’ve got more crops, like back at the prison. There are more people and even people from different places. Even people like Eugene came back. And I see you and Negan together like you are with Michonne, leading people. And Negan is growing that garden we talked about, but instead of strawberries, they’re tomatoes. You should’ve tried his spaghetti, Dad. Maybe one day you still can._

_“You have to find a way forward somehow. We don't have to forget what happened, but you can make it so it doesn't happen again, and nobody has to live this way. That every life is worth something. Start everything over. Show everyone they can be safe again without killing, that it can feel safe again, that it can go back to being birthdays, schools, jobs and even Friday night pizza somehow — and walks with a dad and a three-year-old, holding hands. Make that come back, Dad. And go on those walks with Judith. She'll remember them._

_“I love you – Carl.”_

* * *

 

Negan had had a long, damn day. Strike that, he had had a long damn week in fact. For a moment, he thought he had it all, that he had achieved peace and love and happiness. But that didn’t last long at all.

First, he had to deal with Jadis and whatever the shit that shit was. She had a goddamn helicopter…but that wasn’t important right now.

Then, he had to deal with Simon being a gutless snake in the grass and deliberately disobeying him. He gave Simon chance after undeserved fucking chance, but it all did no good. Still, he gave Simon a sporting chance in an all out dirty brawl. The better man won, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt Negan to have to kill his best friend. From where he was standing, Simon’s body on the fence still hurt to see just as much as the one he made when he suffocated him.

Lastly, there was the war itself and mainly Dwight. Another of his men that had turned into a rat. It was because of that that Negan decided to give it all up. He made his plans that would sacrifice some groups of his men, the useless ones. But he also made his plans that would completely wipe everyone out just like Simon wanted – because Simon forced his hand into it.

Because he had no choice.

At least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

With a sigh, Negan squinted out into the distance, truly alone. He wasn’t a fool. Rick had either led him into a trap, or Rick would think that Negan had abandoned him, and then Rick would never believe him again. Everything went to shit just like that. And now Negan had no one to love.

Suddenly, the walkie-talkie he had clipped to his belt crackled to life. “Negan,” it garbled, “it’s Michonne.”

He couldn’t place the name, so he didn’t reach for it.

“I’ll wait.”

Well, shit. I guess he has to answer. Since he’s outside, she must have eyes on him. These walkie-talkies didn’t have that good of a range. “The one with the dreads, the sword? Is that you?” Hope, ever eternal, sprang in his chest. “Rick there with you? Why don’t you put him on?”

“This isn’t about Rick.” Michonne squashed his hopes. “It’s about Carl.” Walker Simon growled particularly loud, but Negan still heard Michonne over the snarls and the static. “He wrote you a letter, and I’m delivering it because that’s what he wanted.”

A little miffed that she wasn’t letting him speak to Rick – Negan knew she was his girl – and a little playful because that was his nature, Negan said, “Well, I can’t promise not to kill the messenger.”

“Just shut up and listen.” The walkie clicked.

“Negan, this is Carl. I was helping someone. I got bit. We didn't even have to be doing what we were doing. I was just helping someone. Now I'm gone.

“You might be gone. Maybe my dad made your people give you up and he killed you, but I don't think so. I think my dad likes you too much for that. I think you're still around and you're working on a way out because you’re smart like that.  Maybe you got out. Maybe you think we're a lost cause and you just want to kill all of us, but I don’t really think that. Not with what I saw at the Sanctuary, and not with how you were with me, or with my dad.

“I think you think you have to be who you are. I just wonder if this is what you wanted. I wanted to ask you. I wish I could've.

“Maybe you'll beat us. And if you do, there'll just be someone else to fight.

“The way out is working together. It's forgiveness. It’s love. It's believing that it doesn't have to be a fight anymore. Because it doesn't.

Almost imperceptible to the ear, Negan heard Michonne’s voice harden, lacing itself with bitterness.

“I hope my dad offers you peace. I hope you take it. I hope everything can change. It did for me.

“Start over. You still can – Carl.”

There was barely a click of the walkie-talkie before Negan was answering. “All this,” he hissed, hate building up inside and taking the form of tears he refused to shed, “there is no getting out of it now. I wouldn't accept your surrender if you came to me on your knees.”

_Even if Rick was on his knees._

“See, winning isn't about beating you. Winning is about killing every last one of you. That is starting over. I never wanted this. Rick made this happen. I love Rick, and he does this. You tell him that. No more talk.”

With that, Negan dropped the walkie-talkie and stomped it to pieces, grinding it under the heel of his boot. He hoped Michonne was still watching, and he hoped he told Rick exactly what he said. But Rick should already know that his heart already belongs to him.

* * *

 

The very next day, Rick and Negan went to war. Both of them tried not to think of the other, and both of them failed. In front of the others, they had no problems pretending that this was all business and not self-interest. But as soon as all hell broke loose with Eugene’s sabotage and betrayal, Rick saw his shot to get to Negan and he took it without a second thought.

Just like before, he chased Negan, but this time when he fired off his Colt Python, the chambers weren’t empty. All his shots missed, and Rick didn’t have time to consider if it was his shaky hand, dumb luck, fate, or on purpose. He drew his hatchet as he stumbled down the hill to where Negan had ducked behind the safety of a tree trunk. He had just narrowly avoided hitting his head on the colored glass decoration he had shot – and in the process, he ducked Lucille, too.

Unlike before, though, like in that condemned building, Negan was prepared for this. He stabbed Rick in the gut to his face and pulled, tearing him open. “You know, Rick,” he breathed in his face, and his breath was actually sweet like mint, like how his kisses tasted, “when I said I would tear you a new one, I didn’t mean like this.”

Rick was tackled to the ground and they rolled. Negan’s hand was badly damaged so that he couldn’t throw a proper punch, but he still managed to get to his feet first.

“Just so you know,” Negan huffed and puffed like the big, bad wolf he was, “‘Eenie, Meenie, Miney, Moe,’ – that was all bullshit. I made a choice.” Negan drove the toe of his boot in Rick’s ribcage over and over again. Rick heard a crack, and it definitely was a rib because his heart was already broken.

“I just didn’t want to kill a kid’s dad in front of him. I didn’t want to kill you because I liked you. I didn’t want to kill Carl ‘cause I liked him, too. I killed Red because he was a threat. He wouldn’t give in like you. Guess I was wrong.”

With all his strength, Rick kicked Negan’s legs out from underneath him, felling him like a tree. They scrapped again, but this time when they rolled, Negan sagged all of his weight on top of him. “Remind you of anything, sweetheart? Did it mean anything to you? Because I fucking loved you!”

“Shut up!” Rick snapped, bucking Negan off. They scrambled away from each other to stand, half bent over, ready to tackle one another to the ground again. Rick made sure to angle himself away from the tree so that Negan wouldn’t pin him to it. If he did, Rick knew he would be a goner. Clutching his side, blood leaked between his fingers as he tried to staunch the flow. “You don’t know what love is!”

“Tell me the truth,” Negan panted.

Trying not to cry, Rick shook his head, his curls bouncing vehemently. “No…no. I love you.” Blinking, he tried to focus. “You’re beat! Your people are down!”

Dismissively, Negan waved his injured hand. “I’ll get out of it. I always do.” A smile spread across his face, one of victory despite the circumstances. “You love me. I love you. It’s just you and me here, Rick. And you – you are torn open.” Biting his bottom lip, Negan practically purred, “I am bigger, I am badder, and I got a bat.”

“We can have a future,” Rick pleaded, unable to stop the tears from flowing now. There was a sharpness in his side as he gripped it hard, his other hand raised, palm outward to ward Negan off.

“I know I will, but we are over, Rick.”

“Just…just give me, give me ten seconds so I can, I can tell you how,” Rick stuttered, heart thumping in his chest. Heart still beating.

“No.”

Batting his eyes, Rick tilted is head appealingly. “Just give me ten seconds for Carl.”

Negan’s face twisted like he sucked a lemon, but he started counting as he acquiesced to Rick’s request. “Ten. Nine.”

“Carl said it doesn’t have to be – it doesn’t have to a fight anymore,” Rick rushed his words.

“He was wrong. Eight.”

“No, no. He was right.” Rick stepped closer, though he knew he shouldn’t.

Dropping Lucille down by his side, Negan’s eyes started to water as well. Despite himself, he gave in. “Rick,” he croaked, and he took a step closer, too. “Rick, I love you.”

Closing the gap between them, Rick removed his hand from his side and sliced Negan’s throat with the fragment piece of blue glass he found on the ground.

Hazel eyes widened with surprise. Negan dropped to his knees as blood seeped down the open wound on his neck. He helplessly grasped at it, even using his injured hand. His tears flowed as freely as his blood. “Look what you did,” he gasped with his dying breaths, “Carl didn’t know a damn thing.”

With that he collapsed to the ground, bleeding out. Placing his hand back on his side, Rick dropped to his knees beside him, shuffling closer until he could put Negan’s head in his lap. Blood stained his jeans, but Rick didn’t care. He was staring at Negan like he didn’t understand because a large part of him didn’t. Like a child, he placed his hand over Negan’s on his throat, but he had cut deeper than he intended. Negan was dying. He was going to die.

“Negan, Negan.” Rick kept crying. “I love you, I love you. Don’t leave me.”

Negan was weak but still living, though it was hard for him to speak. His lips could still shape the words though. “I love you, I love you.”

Looking up, Rick saw his people creeping down the hill, confused by the scene before them. Rick locked eyes with Siddiq, and he thought maybe it was fate that Carl died for the doctor to save someone else. “Save him!”

The thought was fleeting as Maggie had Siddiq held back. “No. He dies for Glenn.”

At first, Rick didn’t understand, but as he stared at Maggie, it dawned on him. “No,” he started softly, and then got louder, “No, no, NO! Please! Save him! It should be me!”

They stared at him like they didn’t move him, and though Siddiq tried to break free, Daryl and Rosita wouldn’t let him. Michonne moved to help, but Maggie drew her gun on her, out of the katana’s deadly reach.

“Collect Rick,” Maggie ordered coolly – coldly. “Save him instead, Siddiq.”

They did as she said, and a Rick was torn away from Negan he went cold in the sunshine as he realized that Negan would die alone – and Rick wouldn’t get to die at all.

* * *

 

In Alexandria, Rick snuck out of his house for the graveyard. He was in his pajamas and had a blanket around his shoulders, but that didn’t ward away the cold inside. His beard was unkempt, but Rick didn’t care. He felt every bit his age and more. It was a moonless night, but Rick easily picked his way through the graves by muscle memory alone, as he had for every night these past two years. Rick had been all but forbidden to die, but he was sure he had died anyway.

With old bones and creaky knees that spoke of a coming rain and arthritis, Rick knelt between two graves. One had his son. The other was empty. Maggie hadn’t let him leave the infirmary for a week, and by the time he made it back to that tree the walkers had gotten to Negan. Someone had shot him in the head once they had dragged Rick away. He hadn’t turned…but he hadn’t been put to rest either.

All Rick took back was Lucille and the stained-glass fragments from the tree. The glass fragments were placed in the grave, traces of Negan’s blood still on the jagged edges. Lucille was hidden in his house. Not even Michonne knew where she was.

As Rick laid himself down to sleep, he knew his slumber would be undisturbed. Though Michonne still lived with him, they slept in separate beds, and she was there on suicide watch for him as much as she was to raise Judith when Rick couldn’t. But she was a friend. Rick knew that they could never go back to how it was or have more. After this, too, Rick also knew that there was not going to be a love for him again. Half of his heart lay with his son, and the other half with Negan. There was nothing left for him after this.


End file.
